Show's Not Over Yet
by nurr
Summary: Prussia is reborn as Izaya. You know the drill.
1. The Start

**1. The Beginning**

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When Izaya dreams, he dreams of wars.

He dreams himself riding atop a tall white horse, leading hundreds of men, each one of them carrying a sword, or a spear. He dreams of swinging his sword_—left slash, right slash, parry, stab, blood_— and he dreams of the battlefield littered with fallen weapons and blood coating the land.

He dreams himself holding a rifle and bullets flying everywhere, of holding a grenade and taking cover as he throws it as far as he could over the battlefield that was already littered with bodies.

He dreams of castles of old, of kings and queens whose power was absolute as the gold on their crowns, and he dreams of playing a flute in a court as the nobles danced in their gaudy and intricate outfits, and dreams of forests and fields, covered in blood with metal swords embedded in soldiers' chest.

(When he is awake, he thinks that the gang war he's cooking up are nothing compared to his dreams, but he comforts himself thinking it's the best that he can do in modern times.)

Izaya dreams, and when he wakes up, the dreams leave him with a faint feeling of excitment, success, and bloodlust. (_What a way to start a day~!_, he sings, as he looksover the sunrise peeking out of the cityline.)

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**AN:** This stemmed from the plot bunny, "what if Prussia was reborn as Izaya?" because I read too much angsty fics dealing with Prussia being reborn as something else, and NOT prussia anymore. I wrote this ages ago, and I've always did wanted to write those drabble-chaptered fics.

I got some already written out but not polished, hopefully I can finish this in a year. Or two maybe.


	2. Waking

**2. Waking  
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****One day, Izaya sleeps as Orihara Izaya, Tokyo's most notorious informant and self-proclaimed lover of all humans.

The next day, he wakes up and he's not so sure who he is anymore.

(Or maybe even what.)

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	3. Not so Much of Suspicions

**3. Not so Much of Suspicions  
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Nobody notices anything different of course.

It was completely ordinary that whenever a certain informant swings by Ikebukuro, street lamps and sign posts and maybe the occasional vending machine would be found uprooted and looted, and nobody would bat an eyelash anymore when there was a blonde bartender who started screaming and lifting objects no ordinary- err, typical person could pick up, while a brunette in a fur trim jacket would be bouncing around the buildings as if he was a man bitten by a radioactive spider.

And the brunette never did get hit by any of the blonde's projectiles— at the last second, he manages to dodge it, gracefully twisting or jumping away as if he was an acrobat just practicing his moves in the middle of the street.

But it was not ordinary when the brunette would be hit- the spectators could count the time that such a thing happened on one hand— that is the only times that they remembered. But even so, it was a rare sight, and it was usually the time to turn their heads to the brunette instead of the blonde, momentarily forgetting to watch the livid bartender for any incoming projectiles that may come their way.

It lasted only a moment— _blink and you'll miss it_, or _pictures or didn't happen_. He gets back up so quickly and running away just fine, people sometimes wondered if they really did see the whole thing or if it was all just an act.

They were superhumans, and that was that to them.

Except maybe for one doctor and one fairy, who thinks that the brunette, as a normal human, should not be able to withstand such impact.

But then, when was the brunette a normal human to begin with?

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	4. No Worries

**4. No Worries  
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Germany doesn't worry.

He also doesn't wallow in grief, nor does he become angry and snap at everyone whenever someone mentions his brother.

He does not stop to reminisce to a memory that would suddenly come to mind, nor wallow in grief for the loss of his brother. He does not even bother to glance at those who started to talk about it— whom, after noticing the strict blonde nation can hear them, would awkwardly change the topic. Sometimes they end their talk quickly and wait for a reaction, a glare, anything, but have to be left waiting for nothing, as Germany would simply go on and continue with whatever he was doing, continue with his life.

It's not that he doesn't care for his brother, in fact, Germany loved—loves—his brother very much. It still breaks his heart whenever he remembers him lying on his bed, moaning in pain, and Germany being unable to do nothing; and it still hurts how his heart is soon crushed into pieces when just one day, Prussia _vanishes_ into thin air as if he was never there, leaving behind sweat-soaked sheets, a younger brother crying on the bed, and a little yellow bird looking lost. (Germany doesn't think about it that much nowadays, and somewhere in the back of his mind, deep in his heart, he knows he'll never be able to get over the death—_disappearance _of his brother.)

He also doesn't think how his brother might be right now, if he's doing fine or if he misses them; nor does he imagine what it would be like if _everything_ was different.

Because he knows, that wherever Prussia maybe, whoever, wherever, or whatever he may be now, he's probably enjoying himself. (Even more so than he did during his last days of existence.)

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	5. Japan

**5. Japan  
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It was Japan who found him first, of course.

But back then, he does not know of Japan- he knows one Honda Kiku, 23 years old, otaku, weirdly acts as if his body is old despite his young age, old-fashioned, works on special meetings with the government, has a white dog named Pochi, and is considered a very special person for some reason. He hears rumors, that this Honda Kiku person was considered a "nation", but what kind of beings are those? There aren't much stories about them, not from mythology or any ancient text, only through word of mouth, and as an informant, he knows how unreliable those can be sometimes. (And really, a nation?)

It was the unassuming Honda Kiku, however, that came up to him and asks out of the blue with a soft but audible and clear voice, "Have you remembered yet, Orihara-san?"

The park was empty except for the two of them and the legion of cats Izaya has managed to call with his ootoro.

He is startled to be asked by someone who's practically a stranger to him, and became more puzzled with the question asked. Remembered what, he thinks, because he is pretty sure he never met the other man, at least, not recently. Izaya's also pretty sure he's not a customer, or someone his customer is targetting.

Izaya looks at the person beside him surrpetitiously, making sure it was him and not some other guy he was talking on the phone, or maybe not one of the cats. There was still no one other than them in the park, and Kiku was looking at him directly. Getting trapped in those black eyes staring intently at his own red ones, he knew he couldn't have pretended to not hear anything. So, placing a playful smile on his face, he tells the other man, "Ah~ I don't know what you're talking about." Because really he didn't, he had no clue nor vague idea at all.

Kiku bows his head, a silent apology, and tells him, "Another time, then."

As quickly as he made his presence known, he leaves, quietly, without sparing any glance to the informant he left on the bench. Izaya is left confused for a few minutes, but snapped out of it when one of the cats managed to steal the last ootoro he is dangling from his hand.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Well, this sucks. Concrit is so much welcome because I know I need to improve a lot on my writing skills.


	6. Forevery Twenty One

**6. Forever Twenty-One  
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Some time during his teenage years, his sisters found strands of white hair nestled among his black ones. It was an uncommon thing since his parents' hair doesn't show signs of graying just yet, despite them being somewhere in their late 40's, and Mairu and Kururi are too young. He wonders if it could be something like a recessive gene, since he knows there are some people of his age that have gray hair growing alongside amongst their black ones, like pepper and salt mixed together in one big pile. He'd love to ask his parents if it was really genetic somewhere in their line, but they're so often away, the thought to question about it fades away when he has finally accepted the irregularity of his hair color.

So he buys hair dye, and leaves it at that, and everybody else can think of what they want to think (he buys it for his mother, or sometimes his older sister, he would tell the lady at the counter of the store he would buy it in). But when more white strands start sprouting up again, like during the winter when the falling snow is starting to pick up in volume and has covered almost all of the ground, he goes back and buys more hair dye until it's become a familiar ritual for him to dye his hair every now and then. Sometimes, he thinks it would be more practical to just buy a wig, but it won't do to suddenly have it fall off mid flip during those times when he's being chased by the blond beast.

(Once, when he went on a three month long "vacation", holing himself up in another city where he's sure no one would recognize him, he let his hair grow out it's natural color. He thinks, after cutting away the ends still dyed with black, that having a whole head of pure white hair wouldn't be a bad disguise, should he ever need to disappear for a while or experiment whether Shizuo really does identify him with his smell. But the thought of disappearing only made him feel uneasy; not unlike that feeling of worry when he wasn't sure if he did lock the door to his apartment but somehow much worse in ways he can't define, don't want to define, and don't want to think about ever again.

It worries him how one simple thought can manage to unsettle him so deeply. So, having decided that he has satisfied his curiosity enough, he instantly set on dying his hair once again, donning his signature black parka over him and getting the next earliest train he can catch back to Shinjuku.)

Despite what one may imagine, his white hair does not make him look like an old man, dressing up like one of the young ones. In fact, add it with his smooth pale skin, and his bright red eyes, always with a mischievous, and slightly sinister, glint make him look all the more younger, if a little bit some kind of weird out of school delinquent. People would almost always suspect he is somewhere still in his early-twenties, or just beginning to enter into it, despite him just becoming 25 recently. Still, he looked younger than any of his associates, being fortunate enough to escape those old age indicators unlike the people he knows: the crow's feet near the corner of Shiki's eyes, Shinra's darkening eyebags he hides beneath his glasses, Kadota's graying hair he hides beneath his hat, and Namie's wrinkles, appearing when she burrows her eyebrows too much in annoyance or when she doesn't bother putting her make up on.

Maybe it's his genes, his wonderful lifestyle, or he is just plain lucky, but Izaya's glad to find that he doesn't look like he aged since he was 21.

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**AN:** Thank you for greenpen for the correction, and erin-flight for the criticism. I've always wanted to do those drabble-chapter kind of fic, but I'll try to make it longer and incorporate a plot somewhere as well.

Sorry, college's been getting to me and my writing drive. And I must confess, I'm sorta not in to APH and DRRR anymore, as I used to be, but I'll try to finish this!

**Edit: **Sorry, I didn't catch most of the mistakes in my haste to post this. Fixed now. Thanks for erin-flight for pointing it out!


	7. Death

**7. Death  
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(He is afraid of dying.)

He is born from a war, and he is not afraid to go back to the the bosom of the one that gave birth to him. He is not afraid to battle on the front lines— swords raised, guns cocked and loaded, and his battle-lust fueling his single-minded determination to kill, protect, and conquer. He will laugh in glee as his enemies fall one by one, and their blood bathe the ground that is his to claim. He can not die— will not die until his army falls, his kingdom falls, and even then he will still not die, he won't let himeslf die, not until he has the world beneath his thumb.

(It's not that he can die, it's that he can't be killed- he is too fast and too nimble, and it's as if only Death itself can catch him. And the only personification of Death he is willing to fall unto is the one whose head rests hidden behind the numerous books on his shelves, waiting to be wakened- his valkyrie.)

But then, Death knocks on his door, and this time it's for him. His brother can not do anything about it. His so called friends do not do anything about it. He knows death, oh so very well, but for the first time, it is him that it visits.

(He does not believe in a god, or gods— he does not believe in something that can be so fickle, that can be so merciless. But what he believes in, something he is sure that is true and something that he is sure will stay by mankind forever is **Death**.)

(He does not want to die.)

Again.

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**AN:** Abandoned? Hopefully not. Sorry, inspiration seems thin since I left both fandoms; that and both fandoms are a bit stagnant lately.


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